


Rauður

by Arya_Greenleaf



Series: Fandom Holiday Exchanges [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drowning, Fairy Tale Elements, HolidayStoking, Hurt/Comfort, Loki Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Teleportation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-11 16:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5634634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Greenleaf/pseuds/Arya_Greenleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of powerful Asgardian sisters wreak havoc in Midgard. The Avengers and their extended allies are quick to react, ultimately bringing the two into custody. Their victory comes at a cost--the loss of their leader. The Avengers must figure out how to get him back, all the while fearing the worst. Meanwhile, Steve finds himself lost and alone in a strange place at the mercy of hospitality offered from the last person he ever expected it from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my gift for [missgnutmeg](http://missgnutmeg.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for the 2015 Steve/Loki Exchange hosted by [HolidayStoking](http://holidaystoking.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I really hope you like it, Gnu. I tried to hit as many of your favorite story elements as I could and still have the damned thing make sense.
> 
> Happy Stoking!  
> \--AG
> 
>  
> 
> _Mature for injury, moderate language, precarious positions, brief mind-control, and serious smooching._

The explosion of light was brilliant, blinding technicolor.

It was also searing pain, ripping and pulling at his limbs, at each muscle fiber—as if he were being drawn and quartered at an elemental level as he hurtled through the air.

They’d been fighting a pair of Asgardian sisters who’d taken advantage of Thor’s preoccupation with the Infinity Gems. They’d gotten very brief warning that SHIELD had dealt with at least one of them before, though the information was very sparse, more redactions in the report than actual _reporting_. The only solid information that they had to go on was that the red-head could control men with simply the sound of her voice.

It looked like Melinda May had been the one to neutralize her as a threat the last time she’d appeared, along with the help of Lady Sif.

How she’d again escaped from Asgard’s prisons was unknown. Thor had sent Sif to assist while he sorted the problem on Asgard, trying to find out if any other threat needed immediate attention, if she’d escaped with or freed anyone else.

What Asgard hadn’t realized until it was too late was that Lorelei, the escapee, had met up with her sister. Individually, they were both powerful beyond dreams. With Asgardian strength and agility, a keen intelligence, and some manner of magic between them, it seemed as though they would be unstoppable.

It became all too obvious all too quickly, that they wouldn’t be able to defend the Earth as a team.

It had been up to Natasha, Wanda, and Sif to isolate Lorelei—and to contain an enthralled Hulk.

They’d all wanted nothing more than to help, but it was impossible. Even Steve’s head was still reeling from the _cognitive recalibration_ he’d required after spending mere moments near Lorelei. His hair was matted at the back, stuck together with flaking blood, where his skull had smacked against the pavement—hard. The concussion he was sure he had was worth being out from under the Asgardian woman’s thrall. He’d felt completely helpless and totally in control all at once, utterly determined and devoted. A rampaging Hulk feeling the same things wasn’t something they could allow to gain ground anywhere near civilians.

It was Wanda who managed it—keeping the Hulk at bay until they could deal with trying to break him out from under Lorelei’s control.

Her powers had grown in leaps and bounds since Ultron. She could fly. She could send out powerful blasts of energy. She could create barriers and force fields. She could manipulate minds. She was steadily strengthening her general telekinetic abilities each day. But most importantly, she could teleport—distance was something she was still working on, but short bursts of travel for herself and others weren’t much effort at all.

Wanda built a bubble around the Hulk, red and crackling energy keeping him in check as she moved him from place to place to place, just a few feet at a time, keeping him disoriented while Sif and Natasha fought to contain Lorelei.

“I am getting tired.” Her accent was exaggerated through gritted teeth and clenched jaw, each word coming out with its own punctuation over the comms. “I cannot keep this up much longer. Why have we not called Veronica?”

“Because Tony’s only programmed her to respond to _his_ suit and he can’t very well get near the space siren here.”

“Hey!”

“What? You did! You could have very easily patched Rhodey and me in when you were repairing her after Wakanda.”

A string of Russian expletives came over the comms. Steve spared a quick look over his shoulder where Natasha was digging herself out of the ruins of a store front. “Thank _god_ , Pepper.”

Steve was driven back, Amora’s foot solid against his ribs. For a split second he was a kid again, gasping for breath in an alley behind the green grocer’s and praying someone would hear the commotion.

Sif made a sound like she was struggling, her sword crossed with Lorelei’s, coming dangerously close to Sif’s throat. “A little help?”

The repulsors on Pepper’s suit charged, the blast catching Lorelei off guard. She began to tag back and forth between the scuffle with Lorelei and assisting Wanda from several feet in the air.

“Shit!” Amora’s fist landed solidly against Steve’s jaw, knocking him to the ground.

“Do you think your little witch is the only one with power?”

Steve spat bloody saliva out onto the ground and swiped at his wet chin. “No, ma’am.” Sarcasm was a poor shield. He got to his feet, wincing as he tried to take a deep breath, his ribs aching.

Amora raised a brow, “You’ve got attitude.” Her lips curled into a slow smile. A flick of her wrist sent Iron Man flying backward, the arc reactor in the front of his suit a mess of circuitry and sparks. Tony groaned inside the suit and into the comms that he was down. “I’m not sure I like that.”

It was impossible to sneak up on someone while wearing one of Tony’s suits. _Quiet_ needed to be part of whatever numbered redesign he was up to. Rhodey’s plates clinked and clanked, his repulsors charged. Amora rolled her eyes.

She planted her foot in Steve’s gut, driving him downward again, and twisted at the waist to gesture at the approaching War Machine.

He disappeared in a flash of light and a lingering wisp of glittering energy.

Steve’s eyes widened in fear. The communicator in his ear crackled and popped and Rhodey’s voice emerged. “I dunno how she did it, but I’m three blocks away. I’ll be back as soon as I catch my breath. How’m I on power, FRIDAY?” The new AI’s voice was still jarring, Jarvis had become a friend, one of the team. Steve tuned FRIDAY out as much as he could, focusing on the task at hand—which happened to be Amora’s heel grinding down into his gut as if she meant to push it straight through to his spine.

Steve grunted and gripped her ankle, tensing his stomach muscles and pushing himself up. He used her force against her, she twisted and hopped and landed on her knees, practically snarling. Steve dove forward, locking his arms around her neck, trying to keep her down.

“Magic handcuffs! Those would be real nice right about now!” Amora threw him off. “Who the fuck has them?”

Stark was out of his suit, sprinting toward Sif with his hands firmly over his ears. “Can’t do much else!”

Rhodey was a gunmetal grey streak in the sky, hurtling toward where Steve and Amora continued to struggle. Bullets fired from the barrels in War Machine’s shoulders, pinging off of the bubble of energy that had enveloped them. Steve slid across the ground like he was going for home plate, “Go help Stark!”

Tony whooped in delight as he caught the cuffs that Sif chucked toward him.

Hulk roared.

Pepper and Rhodey screamed for Tony, fleshy and vulnerable outside of his suit, as he was batted out of the street and through the window of a storefront like a rag doll. Natasha took off running, leaving Sif alone to deal with Lorelei, to see that Stark was alright. Steve could hear the labored quality of Wanda’s breath, audible even over the comms at that point. Pepper whizzed around, trying to keep the Hulk at bay.

“He’s alive. Knocked out.”

“Silence!” Sif snarled and griped Lorelei tightly, fastening the collar that would prevent her from enthralling anyone else around her neck. It unfurled, reaching up under her nose in a gleaming gold coil. “Pod! We need a pod! Now! Now! Now!”

The containment pod dropped from the sky, its door opening with a hiss. Handcuffs covered in symbols clinked into place and Lorelei tumbled inside the pod before it zoomed away, off to dock in the hellicarrier hovering above the clouds.

Maria Hill’s voice came through over the comms, “Falcon is incoming. Do we need a containment unit for Banner?”

Wanda panted, “Yes!”

Sam glided in gracefully over the rooftops, his toe coming into hard contact with Amora’s chin as she danced backward away from Steve’s strikes, avoiding the hard rim of the shield. “Took y’long enough!”

“Well when you leave me the hell at base, _oh no, Sam, you should stay, we’ve got this covered you just keep at it with them recruits_ ,” he imitated Steve’s drawl nearly perfectly. “ _Wouldn’t wanna put you in danger Sam!_ What do you think I signed up to be an Avenger for? Not babysittin’!” He twisted, gaining height and slipping out of Amora’s grasp.

Somehow, the others had gotten Hulk into a containment pod. His vocalizations audible through even the reinforced windows and walls as the engines struggled to lift his weight into the air.

“This is _ludicrous_ ,” Amora flicked a wrist. Sam disappeared, becoming visible again as a spot high in the sky and falling quickly before regaining his bearings. Steve charged her, ready to drive the edge of the shield up into her chin. His vision whited out, a flash of light and a lurch of his stomach later, he was teetering on the edge of the nearest rooftop.

“I’ve got you!” Soft red light enveloped him and he sat down hard on the ground.

“Thanks, Wanda.”

“No problem,” she huffed.

“I’m takin’ Tony out. He needs medical _now_.” Rhodey’s repulsors charged and he sped upward toward the clouds.

The fight continued in a blur of bodies and magic, the two at the center of it throwing everything they had at one another in bright flashes of red and green and gold—a Christmas spectacular in the middle of the rubble-strewn street. Amora continued to move her Midgardian assailants, a flick of the wrist or a gesture with her chin sending them blocks or feet or miles away—in the air, on the ground, it didn’t seem to matter to her where they wound up as she focused her attention on Maximoff.

Natasha screamed as she fell from the sky with alarming speed. “Got ‘er!” Sam pushed off of the ground, scooping her out of the air and away from certain death.

Sif disappeared in a flash of light. “I do not know where I am!” Later, Hill would track her communicator down to the next county. “There are no signs of battle here—I cannot see or hear you—I am sorry.”

Steve blocked the solid blow of Amora’s fist as she bore down on Wanda, pushing her back. Amora pursed her lips and flung a bright ball of energy toward him. Steve weaved and dodged, dancing around her, landing blows where he could.

“Enough!”

“No!”

Steve landed hard, his legs straight up in the air as he skidded across hard ground on his shoulder blades. His body was alight with pain, his chest and stomach convulsing as he tumbled and slowed. He gasped, his hands shaking as he tore at his collar, his lungs burning. He managed to turn onto his side, the blinding shock of broken ribs wiping away any coherent thought as he emptied the acidic contents of his stomach onto the ground.

Steve flopped onto his back, running his hand over his tearing eyes and wet lips, cringing at the sour taste in his mouth. He coughed and blinked, trying to gain his bearings. Wherever he’d wound up, it was past nightfall. He could barely make out any point of light above the sparse canopy of leaves and branches the clouds were so thick.

“Guys? Guys, I… I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore.”

His communicator fizzled and popped in his ear. It whistled loudly and he ripped it out, leaving it dangling on the cord against his shoulder. Obviously he was out of range.

“Fuck. _Fuck_!”

Without the stars he couldn’t even begin to make an approximation of where he was. Some heavily wooded area, that was it.

He laid there against the hard ground, debris of the sparse flora around him digging into his back and limbs. He soon realized that though the tremor in his hands was from adrenaline that no longer had avenue for escape, the shaking in the rest of his body was from the sharp coldness of the air.

So. Heavily wooded area, in the winter.

At least that narrowed down the list of possibilities somewhat.

Not Morocco or Dubai. Certainly not Bali or Goa. Being dropped into the Caribbean would have been nice, but he definitely wasn’t there either.

Moving didn’t seem to be an option just yet, though he knew it would be unwise to lie there on the ground for much longer, the sting of the cold was a distraction from the pain of his injuries. If he was this much worse for wear, he couldn’t imagine how the others were.

He needed to get back to them.

To do that, he needed to get up and move. Find people, find a phone or something.

Steve gritted his teeth and rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up onto his knees. Bit by bit he rose, leaning heavily on the nearest tree. He lifted his arm and spread his fingers wide. The gesture should have called his shield to him with a magnetic pulse, but didn’t. He groaned as he stood up straight and squinted through the darkness, searching the ground. A chilly breeze whipped up his back, icy fingers of it working up under the tattered back of his suit and making him shiver hard.

He stumbled, trying to make out the path of mild destruction he’d left as he sailed across the forest floor. With unsteady fingers he managed one of the pouches at his waist, nearly dropping the penlight as he pulled it out. He scanned the ground with the weak beam of light, hoping it would reflect off of the shield. He very quickly found that the frost clinging to the underbrush was severely thwarting that route of discovery.

His limbs were beginning to feel tight. His nose and ears had gone from burning with the cold to entirely numb.

Steve needed to get moving. He needed to find some way to contact Hill and get an extraction. The shield could wait. It had a GPS tracking chip. They could find it later.

He fumbled with the pouches at his waist again, putting his light away to conserve the battery should he happen to need it. He leaned against a large rock, planting his behind against it and bracing his hands against his knees.

Super soldier or no, he needed medical.

He flexed his fingers, trying to work feeling into them before popping another of his pouches open to produce a utility blade. He’d spent enough time pretending to be captured by Nazis and Hydra agents to know it was smart to have one hidden away somewhere.

As he moved through the trees, straining to hear anything over the crackling of ice and gusts of wind, straining to see any of the stars through the clouds, he slashed at trunks and branches, carving out a path to follow back if he needed to.

Steve had walked for what felt like an hour with his steadily cooling feet, his breath making little frosty clouds in the air in front of him. Counting his steps, he thought he may have been about a mile from where he’d began when he thought he heard the distinct sound of water. Not running steadily, crashing over rocks; but trickling and tinkling over ice. Diverting from his path, he followed the sound. It grew louder, though not by much, until he practically walked right into the icy flow. Steve sighed with relief when he realized he was already heading downstream and far more likely to encounter someone, _anyone._ Keeping a few feet from the water, not wanting to lose his footing and fall in, he followed the stream. Marking one last tree, he put his blade away in favor of tucking his fingers under his arms.

At least the numbing effect of the cold was diverting his attention from his ribs.

He wished he’d found the shield, if only to block the wind from his back.

He wished he’d bothered with his helmet, if only to try to hold some heat against his head.

Steve froze, unsure whether the snapping sound he heard was from the underbrush and frost he was trampling—or someone else was out there in the darkness. He slowed his breathing, filling his lungs as much as he could, considering, and exhaling until his belly went concave under red and white Kevlar. He glanced toward the water, across the short expanse to the opposite shore—nothing. He glanced toward the woods at his shoulder, another snap, a rustle of dry leaves, a low growl.

Steve turned slowly toward the sound, put his hand more slowly on the holster at his hip. He focused on two points of light in the darkness between the trees as he edged slowly further away, willing whatever was out there to stay put.

It emerged slowly. First a large paw, then a shining black nose and pearly teeth.

Steve drew in a ragged breath, watching as the wolf—larger than anything he’d seen before—eased out from the tree line. He drew the pistol out of its holster and raised it in a trembling hand, waiting to see if the creature would charge him or retreat, continuing to edge further away, trying to put distance between them.

It wasn’t going to retreat.

The rumble of the wolf’s growl, its teeth bared in a snarl, reverberated in Steve’s chest.

Fingers too numb to cock the pistol with one thumb, he steadied his hand with the other and tried to force the hammer spur down. The action clicked and jammed, useless in the frigid temperatures.

Steve’s voice came out in a tone less than a whisper, “Lighten our darkness this night, O God, and protect us with your presence—“

The wolf pressed forward, leaping toward Steve and knocking him down, teeth snapping just in front of his nose. Steve crossed his wrists, pressing them up into the wolf’s throat, trying desperately to hold it back. He let out a shriek as the solid weight of the thing came down on his chest, heavy paw pushing into his ribs like it _knew_ he was hurting. Pistol still gripped in seized fingers, he drew one arm away, letting sharp teeth drop dangerously close, and hauled off as hard as he could, driving the stock hard into its snout. With a wheeze and a grunt he pushed up with his knees and threw the wolf back, sending it crashing through the top layer of ice in the stream.

Steve took the seconds the beast was stunned to scramble to his feet with energy he was sure he didn’t have.

“Guard us with your holy angels— _hhhuunn—_ and keep us— _hhnnn—_ from all that is evil!”

He forced his cold, stiff legs to move, one foot in front of the other over and over, gaining ground. He didn’t dare look back, knowing the wolf was hot on his heels. Not knowing how deep the stream was or how quickly the water was moving beneath the surface, he couldn’t chance just running across it.

He jumped.

Steve’s momentum pitched him forward, his limbs untrustworthy in the state he was in. He stumbled, sliding on his chin, ripping up the skin of his nose and lips and pushing himself back up onto his feet, a guttural sound ripping out of his throat.

His heartbeat throbbed—albeit much more slowly than was likely healthy—in his temples and forced a slow ooze of instantly cooling blood over his bottom lip and onto the front of his suit.

He continued to run, careless of the direction he was heading in, hurtling through the trees until he came to a clearing and dashing across.

_Crack!_

Steve drew in a sharp breath, stopping his manual motion but unable to stop the slide of his boots over the ice. The wolf prowled at the edge, watching him. Steve could swear it smirked.

_Crack!_

Steve eased his feet forward, sliding a few inches at a time, desperate to get to the other side of the ice.

Until the world fell out from under him.

The shock of the cold water wasn’t something he’d ever wanted to feel again. There was a pang of morbid nostalgia in his chest along with the stabbing pain of a thousand blades all over his body. He struggled against the downward pull of the weight of sodden tactical gear, trying to swim upward. His palms came into hard contact with sold ice above him. Disoriented in the stark darkness of the water, he tried to feel for the edge of the ice, the crack he’d fallen through.

His movements slowed.

His chest burned.

His head throbbed.

He fought against heavy, stiff limbs; stretched his fingers toward the ice overhead; lost track of which direction was up and down.

He sank.

Steve’s body was numb—he might as well have not had a body at all. He was floating consciousness, floating down and away, falling into fathomless nothingness.

At least this time it would be quick.

A warm tendril caressed what may have been his chin and throat if he’d believed he had a body any longer.

If he had a body and a voice he might have laughed at the image of a large octopus his floating cloud of a mind conjured forth. If there had been a wolf of monstrous size here, wherever he was, why not a giant octopus in a frozen lake as well?

The tendrils wrapped around his arms and chest and suddenly the water was rushing and sliding and dripping.

Steve shivered hard as he crawled across the ice, heedless of the possibility of it cracking again. His diaphragm spasmed and he gasped and coughed, icy water flowing up the back of his throat and out of his mouth and nose. His mind was playing tricks on him, faint and glittering green fairy lights faded slowly out of sight.

So much for a quick end.

At least hypothermia was an old friend.

At least his ribs didn’t bother him as much. He had other hurts to focus on.

Steve eased onto his side, glancing around. The wolf was nowhere in sight. Had he imagined it?

Was he somehow under Lorelei’s thrall? Under Amora’s power? If Wanda could mess with her target’s mind, why not them?

He needed to find shelter, enchanted or enthralled or not.

He crawled to the tree line and got to his feet, leaning his weight against the trunk and pressing his legs down, not entirely sure they would support him. He focused his progress on moving from tree to tree. He tried to listen to the forest around him over the persistent ringing in his ears, hoping he’d hear the wolf’s return before it was on him again. He paused, fumbled with his belt, taking his blade out again. He made it mere yards before he dropped it, little feeling in his fingers left to keep a grip on it.

His movement was becoming steadily more impeded by the water that soaked suit beginning to freeze.

Something in his peripheral vision moved. He paused, turned. Something like the sound of laundry on the line in too much wind reached his ears.

Every last shred of caution told him to keep moving.

The prospect of a sun-warmed sheet, however ludicrous that sounded to the logical part of his brain, outweighed the caution.

A cackle ripped its way out of his throat when he saw the dark colored fabric, snagged on a branch and flapping wildly in the wind. He reached up with both hands, balling his fists into the frost covered material. He hardly had the strength to yank on it. Cringing, he dropped his weight. The branch snapped and fell, freeing the fabric.

Hands clubbed into fists, he took several beats to free it, realizing in the course of his attempts that it was a long, wide cape. Tattered though it was, it would protect his back from the wind, he could pull it up over his head, clutch it closed around him.

With the cape settled over his shoulders, a tiny voice of better judgement telling him he should keep his eyes and ears free of obstacle, he continued to forget forward.

His progress was aimless now without the stream to guide him. He no longer hoped for civilization, instead keeping his eyes peeled for any kind of natural shelter the forest might offer.

Steve lost count of his steps, couldn’t tell how far he’d traveled when he began to hear the tell-tale sounds of something else traveling beside him.

“P-p-please n-no.”

It was a wonder the cape didn’t snag when he sped up his purposeful shuffle to a walk, willing his frozen legs to moved faster as the wolf pursued him.

If he’d had the energy, he would have wept openly when he saw light through the trees, when the light began to take the shape of windows.

“Help.”

“H-h-help.”

“ _Please!”_

He spread his fingers, slapping his palm against the door when he reached it. He pushed against it with his shoulder, leaning on it with everything he had.

“Pl-l-lease!”

The door swung wide. Steve fell forward, scrambling on hands and knees into the room, toward the blast of heat from the roaring fire in the hearth.

“Close-clo-close it! Close the d-d-door!”

His back to the warmth of the flames, he watched as the wolf slipped over the threshold and stalked toward him. He whimpered as the beast came close, its breath hot and humid against his face.

“Oh _God_ , please.”

The wolf seemed to scoff in derision. It stalked away slowly, sticking to the perimeter of the room. The door was closed, though Steve noticed no one else in the room.

He realized, in the glow of the fire, that the cape he was tangled up in was red.

Steve laughed out loud.

“What, pray tell, is so amusing, _Captain_?”

The voice rang with familiarity. He scanned the room, slowly, looking for the source of the sound. A gruff laugh came from over his shoulder, low and throaty and predatory. Steve turned, his body slow, aches blooming fresh and bright once more. A dark-haired man, corded with lean muscle stood at the far end of the room. He wore nothing but the dirt on his hands and bare feet. His eyes, brilliant and amber, sparkled in the firelight as he slipped into a thick woolen robe hanging near the door.

“Don’t frighten our guest, Fenrir.” The man scratched at his chin, days of growth making a bristly sound under his fingers. “I wouldn’t have had you lead him here if that were my sole aim. Do you think he’ll talk if he’s frightened?”

The man gave Steve a withering look, his top lip lifted in a displeased snarl, and stalked back through the shadows, disappearing behind a heavy drape.

“Tell me, did you come alone? Or have you figured out some way to hide yourselves? Used some of my own tricks against me?”

Shivering hard, Steve turned toward the voice. His eyes widened as the speaker appeared, seated casually in a tall chair that seemed to have been grown right from the earth gleaming white as bone. First the feet appeared in a warm glow of gold and green light that spread upward slowly. Toes flexed and feet shifted, slender ankles disappeared into smart woolen trousers, a leg moved to settle casually over the arm of the chair, long fingers drumming against the bent knee. The waist was well defined with a heavily embroidered and embellished belt of cloth and leather. Precise braids over the ears and disappearing toward the back of the head held long, inky waves away from the defined jaw and lively eyes.

“H-ha-ha-h _ow_?”

“You weren’t a man of so few words at our last meeting, Captain.”

“B-b-but you’r-r-re _dead_.”

“Am I?”

Loki stood, moving quick as lightening, he was towering over Steve in an instant. “W-what did you do?” Steve tried to stand, succeeding only in rising up onto his knees. “Wh-why m’I he-e-er? Why’d y-you bring m-me?”

Loki grabbed a fistful of hair at the crown of Steve’s head, wrenching it back, forcing him to look up. He didn’t have the strength to fight back. “Maybe I just wanted to see you finally _kneel_.”

Steve’s world went entirely black, his last conscious thought about how brilliant those green eyes looked, glittering in the light from the hearth and brimming with angry moisture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this work is Icelandic for "red." If you speak the language an have any corrections, please let me know.
> 
> Fenrir does appear in the comics. There, he is a shapeshifter to some extent and can assume a passably human or anthropomorphic form. Seeing as Loki of myth and comic is a shapeshifter, I didn't think it was too far a stretch and a good way to incorporate a fairytale element as well as pull in the Norse element.
> 
> Guns do, in fact, freeze and fail in the cold. Lubricants get gummy and harden, impeding the action. Moisture from the air can also freeze and keep the moving parts from moving. Gosh that sounded way dirtier than intended.
> 
>   
> Loki's hairdo, or more like Legolas I suppose if you imagined something more put together.


	2. Chapter 2

Barton was glad to be back at the Avengers facility. He loved his family, but he loved his work. He was lucky as hell to have found someone to share his life with that understood that. He cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear as he rechecked the jet's systems to make sure she didn't need servicing.

"Lila, you tell him you can do whatever he can backward and upside down. I know he's a meanie but Hawkeye can't come to school to scare off the bullies. Y'gotta learn how'da be yer own superhero, alright? Alright. Put yer Ma back on, okay? I love you too."

Clint stretched and grabbed his gear from the back of the jet before turning for the door. The training yard was oddly quiet. It had rained on his way over, he supposed that everyone may have gone inside to wait out the light storm that had probably been headed in this direction.

"Hey. Yeah, I got in okay. I'll be back next week to finish the workroom. Just gotta paint. Pick out colors okay? And pray to whatever god is listenin' to hold off on makin' the world end for at least another month. I'm gettin' too old fer that nonsense." He laughed at Nathaniel burbling into the phone, presumably laid against the same shoulder the phone was resting on on Laura's end. "I'll call later to do the bedtime thing. Ditto."

He cast a warning glance at some recruit who he'd yet to put a name to and moved thought the building to the Avengers private section. He just wasn’t in the mood for anyone’s gripes. The general lack of bustling activity was immediately alarming. Rather than stop in the apartment space that he and Natasha shared, Barton made a beeline for the crisis room. Sure enough, everyone on the current roster that had any kind of real clearance was gathered there. Maria Hill's face was up on the big screen at the end of the room as he pushed through the door, hardly anyone looking up to notice his entrance. Every face was set with a grim expression as they listened to the Commander.

"—she can help. We don't know where exactly he went, but this is an Asgardian problem and that for damned sure is her specialty. I'm officially saying that it's time to worry, too. We haven't gotten a single ping on GPS since it happened. Either the chip in the suit is somehow too damaged or..." She pinched the bridge of her nose in a manner that suggested a sleepless night and too much red tape. "Or I don't know. Honestly. We picked up the shield in," she glanced down at her notes "Gamla Uppsala. Middle of an archaeological dig site in Sweden. It was on the news before we even triangulated the signal.  _Captain America's shield drops out of sky, destroys valuable medieval era skeleton. Historians enraged."_  She leaned back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair. "We sent a few agents out to scour the area, question the locals and the incredibly annoyed archaeologists. Nothing. It's like he literally disappeared into thin air."

"But if this is...  _Magic._  Is that what we're calling it? Then how can Dr. Foster help? She's into physics, the hard stuff."

Stark looked worse for wear, the side of his face purpled, sitting awkwardly in his chair. Banner looked at him in an utterly forlorn manner. "We've studied Wanda's teleportation, though. If Amora's works the same way, sort of bending time and space, then Foster should be able to get a lock on his location. Give us some possibilities at the very least."

Jane Foster's ever cheerful voice rang out from the telephone hub in the middle of the table. "I'm looking at the readings from a few weather satellites now... I may have also maybe hacked into something military by accident, Maria, but the data is useful. It's looking like there was a massive electrical storm of some kind centered right at the coordinates and timeframe you guys gave me. The patterns look somewhere between the Bridge and the Convergence, like their bastard child or something. I hate to say it, but Captain Rogers might not... erm... He might not be on Earth anymore. If that's the case, my resources are pretty limited. But you said you found the shield in Uppsala? That's, like, mega-super important. He could be on Asgard somewhere? Maybe? Back in the day there was a huge temple there—it was a pretty damned important place. It seems pretty logical that the people who worshiped… you know… _Thor_ , that they may have literally felt some kind of other-worldly connection there. Thor and I visited the last time he was in town. My equipment went berserk. The readings were totally off the chart. There's definitely something there. I just don’t know what." 

"Wait a minute." Everyone turned toward Clint as if he'd materialized from nowhere completely in the buff. "Just let me know if I'm understanding this correctly, alright? While I was away, there was a kerfuffle with some Space Vikings," Lady Sif wrinkled her nose in displeasure across the room, "and we  _lost_  Steve?"

Wanda adjusted the shawl around her shoulders, stuck in an expression between defiance and guilt. "Temporarily misplaced."

Wilson made a sound of anger and disbelief and pushed past Clint, headed for the door. Hill clenched her jaw and took a breath before she informed them that Foster would be coming in on a flight later that evening. Jane insisted that she wanted to get straight to work, she thought FRIDAY's systems might be helpful in building a more comprehensive model than her own cobbled together equipment. Natasha laughed, insisting that that equipment was more intuitive than most high end material and told Jane that she looked forward to seeing the Nobel-nominee before she rose from her own seat. She hooked her arm through Clint's and led him through the door. 

"C'mon. Let's find Sam and get something to eat. We'll fill you in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint showed up fifteen minutes late... But forgot the coffee.
> 
> Gamla Uppsala or "Old Uppsala" was a major center for worship in medieval Norse culture and the last real stronghold in the area before Christianity really saturated it. Today, it's a village outside of Uppsala proper in Sweden.


	3. Chapter 3

 "Damn."

The Avenger's eyes rolled back and his face went completely pale, what little color had come into it from either fear or warmth from the fire fleeing in an instant. He stayed upright on his knees only because Loki continued to hold fast to a fistful of hair. Letting go, the Captain dropped to the floor in an undignified heap.

"Go get me a blade. I suppose I'm going to have to cut him out of this ridiculous get up."

"Why?"

"Because he may be _special_ but he is still a weak Midgardian. He's freezing to death."

"No, why bother?" Loki raised a brow, looking at Fenrir with his arms crossed and his hackles raised. "You sensed no one else, I found no one else in the wood. Let him die and be done with it."

"Well, if Thor comes looking for him then I certainly don't want him to think us inhospitable...” Loki trailed off, his tone nonchalant. “Because  _I said so,_ that is why." His nostrils flared as he put out his hand, a sturdy knife appearing in his palm. He squinted at Fenrir and gracefully sank to the floor. “You forget to whom you are speaking, _Fenrisúlfr._ ”

Fenrir’s breath came out in an unamused huff. “Yes, I’ve forgotten myself, _faðir._ Or should I be mindful of your ever-growing list of titles? The shunned former Prince of Asgard—the War Relic—“ He opened his mouth to speak again and found he had no voice. With a silent snarl he joined Loki on the floor, man-handling the Captain’s foot into his lap and pulling none too gently at the lace of his boot. When Fenrir tried to speak again, the ability had returned. “Dead tricksters shouldn’t be meddling if they don’t want to be found.”

“I’ll worry about that when the time comes.” He sawed through the sturdy, half-frozen weave of the Captain’s belt.

Fenrir chucked the boot he was working on aside, “You could just make this all disappear, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Loki raised a brow and set to work on the leather straps around the big, rounded shoulders.

***

Steve became slowly aware of warmth on his face. He thought for a moment that he was lying in the sun, the light turning his cheeks freckly and pink.

He realized quickly how heavy his limbs felt. There was a weight on his chest, soft but persistent.

And he didn’t freckle anymore.

Steve willed his eyes to open, peering first out through his lashes at the sensuous glow of the flame beside him. Opening his eyes fully, he recognized the room he’d broken into when the wolf had been chasing him. Working his hands up from his sides, he freed his arms from the pile of wool and fur wrapped around him. He rose up on his elbows to take in his surroundings more carefully.

He seemed to be on a cot, low to the floor without being right on it. The fireplace, he realized, was a circular pit in the floor. The fire burned with an other-worldly glow, the heart of the flame very subtly green, the dancing and snapping tongues a molten gold. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch, silently chastising himself for the foolish thought.

Steve struggled to remember what had happened after he pushed through the door, the beast on his heels. How had he come to be wrapped so warmly? The feeling had more than returned to his fingers and toes. His hair seemed dry. The dangerous cold no longer offered the comfort of numbness against the sharp ache in his head and ribs. Had whoever lived here tended to him?

Where was the wolf?

Steve winced and groaned as he pulled himself up further. His flanks seized hard at the shock of comparably cooler air as his coverings fell away, slouching around his waist. He raised a brow as he looked down at himself and his bare arms and torso, becoming aware of the feel of the soft wool against the bare skin of his legs and backside—the darkest of reds against the silvery-grey fur on top.

Tired eyes scanned the room, searching half-heartedly for his suit and shield until he remembered the latter was lost. His stomach quivered nervously at the sight of a pile heaped atop a tall, ornate chair—the blues of his suit and the cherry-red of the now presumably dry cape he’d covered himself with easily recognizable amongst the shreds of fabric and leather.

Steve wished he had his side arm or the utility blade from his belt.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to wake.”

A heavy curtain folded aside in the threshold to the next room; long, white fingers curling around the edge and moving it in dramatic fashion like some picture-show Dracula.

Loki’s smile, one side of his mouth pitched up at an angle, was both bemused and entertained at once.

“What did you do?”

“Saved your life, by the looks of it. Or would you have preferred I let you succumb?”

Steve pressed his lips together, each breath sending sharp pain through his chest. “Where am I?”

Loki’s brow shot up, “You don’t know?” His eyes shimmered gleefully and he moved into the room, one arm cradling a jug that made a sloshing sound as he moved, a few corked vials clutched in his fingers. “Why did they send you here?”

“I didn’t come willfully.” The idea of fighting his way out—bare-assed and injured—wasn’t immediately appealing, but what alternative did he have? His eyes swept across the room again. His boots stood near to the fire. If he could subdue Loki, he’d jam his feet into them and take off with the blankets that were trapping him against the cot around his shoulders.

He’d take his chances outside.

With the wolf.

Loki poured what Steve assumed was water into a heavy-looking pot. A pinch here and a dash there of whatever was in the vials followed. The pot’s handle went onto a hook and the whole thing swung out on a heat-blackened arm over the fire.

The floor wasn’t as cold as Steve thought it would be when his bare toes touched it.

“I wouldn’t.”

A low growl came from the perimeter of the room. The wolf seemed to materialize out of thin air as it stalked slowly around and circled closer.

“You’re on Jotunheim, by the way.” Loki crouched and scratched affectionately between the wolf’s ears. “Thrymheim, more specifically—one of the absolute last places I would have thought Thor and his band of fools would look for me. I suppose I underestimated you.”

“How’d I get here?”

“How should I know?”

“You didn’t bring me?”

Loki laughed, “No. I sensed a disturbance, Fenrir found you flailing about in the wood. We _guided_ you here.”

“Then it was Amora.”

The Trickster’s interest seemed to be piqued. “Amora?”

“And her sister.”

“Lorelei.” Steve nodded, weighing the worth of giving any more information up. He coughed, his lungs tight and heavy. His eyes burned with moisture. “It will ease the pain if you lie on your injured side.”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve shifted and laid down on his side, the pressure almost instantly a relief, his lung feeling more full. It wasn’t the first time he’d been broken.

“You’ll be fine. You don’t seem to have any other invisible hurts.”

Steve eyed Loki warily as he made his way around the fire pit and hitched the covers carefully back up over Steve’s torso. Loki’s gaze lingered on the ugly purple-black bruise across his side and swept up over his chest and throat. He smiled, predatory, and patted Steve’s shoulder gently.

He smelled sweet and smoky when he leaned close, the sharp tang of something like electricity burning under the scent.

“Why’s this the last place someone’d look for you?”

Loki regarded Steve carefully as he sat on the edge of the pit. The flames seemed to curve away from him, not daring to singe the inky waves over his shoulders or clothes on his back.

“Because Skaði is not a particular fan of mine.”

“Oh yeah, why not?”

“We’ve had our dalliances. The usual. A casual fuck here, a dead father there, a hearty round of torture with a massive snake…” He trailed off as if reminiscent, clearly trying to get a rise out of Steve.

Loki seemed different, and none too subtly. His posture was changed, much more relaxed, as if totally in his element. Where before he stalked and smoldered, he seemed now to flow like water when he moved. Gone were complicated layers of leather and metal and fabric, the heavy boots, the gaudy helmet. He was still pale, though there were blooms of healthy color in the apples of his cheeks. His hair was much longer than the last time Steve had seen him, glowering out over the top of the muzzle—instead of an oily, villainous sheen it looked soft and well cared for, even in what looked like an unbrushed state. Steve noticed a delicate strand of gold in the braids over Loki’s ears, small discs hanging just where the braids disappeared into looes hair at the back of his head.

Loki’s toes and ankles cracked as he stretched out his legs and flexed the joints.

“Why did you help me?”

Loki shrugged.

 

They sat in oddly comfortable silence for some time as the pot came to a gentle boil. Loki held a stoneware cup out to Steve, an expectant look on his face. Steve regarded him warily, inching away slightly. Loki rolled his eyes, blew across the top of the cup, and took a sip.

“ _Drink_.” The wolf, having long since settled on the opposite side of the fire pit, lifted its great head and let out a low growl of warning. “It will help with the discomfort.”

Steve hefted himself up on his elbow and accepted the cup. Warmth spread out across his chest and belly as the hot brew flowed down his throat. It tickled out into his limbs and into his fingers and toes, making him feel shimmery and light.

“How long have I been here?”

“Afraid you’ve missed another few decades Captain?” Loki’s lips curled into a cruel smile. It was easy to forget how thorough Loki’s knowledge of each member of the team was when it didn’t seem like he was a threat any longer. His smile faded and his expression softened.

“A night and most of a day. I couldn’t say how long that is for your lovely sheildbrothers on Midgard, however.” He ran his fingers though his hair and picked at a thread hanging from his sleeve. “Time passes differently here—in each realm.” He frowned and squinted down at the thread, seeming to debate whether or not to pull it. “Something akin to the way days cycle differently on the planets in your system, I think. In a rush to be on your way?”

Steve’s stomach rumbled and he shrank back in embarrassment. Loki chuckled.

“Fenrir.” The wolf looked up, uninterested. “We seem to be in need of something to eat.” The wolf put its head back down, closing its eyes. “Don’t ignore me, you useless beast.” Loki chided the wolf amiably. With much prodding, the wolf go to its feet. It huffed in annoyance as Loki closed the door behind it.

“It… it understands you?”

“ _He_ understands me, yes.”

“Sorry.”

“His name is Fenrir.”

“I gathered that.” Loki narrowed his eyes, annoyed or offended. “Wait. Fenrir. He—“

“Mhmm.”

“So, the stories, they—“

“Some. Not all. In this case, mostly truth. So what has Thor told you then?”

The pain in his side nearly gone entirely, Steve sat up on the edge of his cot, carefully pulling the blanket and fur around himself. “Not a lot. He keeps a lot to himself. He’s quiet. He’s happy to talk if you ask the right questions, though.” Steve looked pointedly at Loki. “He’s lonely.”

“He’s surrounded by his friends.”

“Not the same as having a brother.” Loki scoffed. Steve looked at his boots and then to the pile of fabric that was once his suit. “I—um—I—“

“Don’t enjoy lounging in the nude?”

Steve laughed, “It’s a little awkward.” He raised a brow at the destroyed pile.

“That was just a bit of fun.” A flick of his wrist at the suit appeared fully intact, draped across the seat. Loki plucked the red cape from the chair. “What is _this_?”

“I found it.” Loki frowned, the expression one of mild interest. Steve burst out into laugher. Loki regarded him like he’d grown an extra head. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” He clutched his side, some discomfort returning with the trauma of his diaphragm and muscles contracting. “The cape—and Fenrir.” Steve sucked in a breath. Loki was watching him with an open expression and crossed arms. Steve was struck by how elegant Loki was when he seemed at ease, how fine his features were when he wasn’t scowling and angry and sweaty from battle. “My, what big eyes you have.”

Loki snorted, seeming to catch the reference, and rolled the cape into a ball to toss back onto the chair.

“You know that story?”

“I know a great deal of Midgard’s stories. Thor and I visited often in our youth, caused quite the ruckus wherever we went.” His tone was soft and fond. He shook his head. “I will find you something more comfortable to wear. Seeing as how you’ve already consumed something, you should really be comfortable if you’re to be trapped here forever.” He winked, a gesture that looked altogether ridiculous and dangerous on someone with Loki’s reputation, and disappeared through the curtained doorway. He returned shortly with clothes similar to his own with a pair of thick socks beside. He moved close to Steve making him shrink back and tense when Loki extended his hand. Loki frowned and continued his motion, caressing Steve’s cheek and the back of his neck lightly, as if checking his temperature.

Steve found himself leaning into the touch as he accepted the clothes.

Loki busied himself with the fire, tending to it needlessly as Steve shimmied into soft woolen pants and a navy-colored shirt, heavy with embroidery around the collar and cuffs, mostly huddled under his blankets.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may ask, I may not answer.”

Steve nodded, fair enough. “How did you end up here?”

Loki pursed his lips and plopped down onto the ornate chair, his fingers tracing over the seams around the star in the front of Steve’s suit where it was draped. “That’s a complicated inquiry.”

“You—you don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I will.” Loki took a deep breath before he continued. “I was King of Asgard, for a time.” He smiled to himself. “A few hours, at least. Long enough to send Thor on his way and make sure no one was looking for me. They weren’t, of course. A dead trickster is of no consequence—at least less so than a live one. I died in his arms, what further proof did they need? I haven’t decided yet whether or not I am offended that they did not return for my body, stage a proper funeral.”

“Considering your track record—“

“Ooh, someone’s got a sharp tongue.” The upward turn to the corner of his mouth let Steve know Loki was joking. “I didn’t have many options after that. It’s tiring to wear someone else’s face. I can be anything if I am me, for however long I require.” Steve was confused, but he hesitated to interrupt. “What’s more than that though—being someone else gets very boring very quickly.”

“Did it bore you to be me?”

Loki grinned. “I can feel the righteousness surging even now. Though, it looks like this new get up is much less… fitted. Thor?” Steve nodded. Loki continued, “My choices were limited. The only viable options were here, in this place or with Hel—not your Hell, don’t get any ideas. _My_ Hel. And the dead can just be so _gloomy_.”

“Why here?”

“Who would think to look for Loki, the bastard Jotunn, in the very realm he tried to burn out of Yggdrasil’s branches?”

The door slammed open, a gust of wind sweeping ice and snow inside. Fenrir returned, an animal clutched in his teeth. He dropped it and seemed to physically shake himself, rising up on his hind legs and becoming a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we have the tiniest of winks to Lady Loki's character design. I'm not a particular fan of the story arc but I do love the design. We also have a reference to Agent of Asgard in which Loki can become anything as long as it's himself.
> 
> Loki also references the story in which he helps Thjazi kidnap Idunn, the whole thing resulting in Thjazi's death. Skadi is Thjazi's daughter. Her preferred home is in Thrymheim, where Thjazi had lived. Loki accuses her of sleeping with him at some point (as he does _most_ of the major female figures) and she is responsible for getting the snake that drips venom onto Loki situated after Baldr's death.
> 
> Of course, if you haven't figured that out already, Steve is Red Riding Hood. There's also the classic fairytale plot device in which the human who consumed some food or drink of the fairy-place must then stay there forever.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been days.

Everyone was on edge, Wanda most of all.

“I am responsible.” Her eyes widened in horror when Dr. Foster squished her face between two hands.

“Don’t you dare say that.”

“But it is the truth.”

“No, it’s not. _You_ tried to keep Amora from sending him off somewhere he’d be hurt.”

“An instead he is missing completely. What if we cannot find him because he is _dead_?” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’ve killed Steve Rogers.”

Clint pulled her into a tight hug, “C’mere kid.”

Wanda was clearly exhausted, she’d spent every moment she reasonably could in the lab with Foster, Banner, and Stark performing and repeating her feats of teleportation so that they could make measurements again and again, trying to figure out how something could have possibly gone wrong.

Sif had made a frustrated sound and broken the coffee mug she was holding. “It all comes down to Amora! It is _always_ Amora!”

They’d learned the finer details of Amora’s fixation on Thor and the many dealings he and the Warriors Three and Sif—and even Loki on occasion—had had with her.

When Thor arrived it was in an angry thunderstorm, though he could not tell if it was of his own making or not. He snarled as he spoke through the wall of Amora’s cell. His palm slapped hard against the glass, making her jump. “You will tell me where you have sent him you conniving—“

“Thor!” Maria Hill put a hand on his shoulder, warning and steadying him.

He gritted his teeth and sucked in a breath. “Tell me.” His voice had a deadly calm quality.

“I know not. Ask your _witch_.”

“You know very well if we could find him that way we would have by now.”

Amora’s lips spread into a smile. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, her bare toes dragging up her shin in a seductive gesture. “So you need me.”

“Yes.”

She got to her feet, flowing like water into a standing position. She stalked closer to the glass, looking up into Thor’s face through thick lashes. “And what do I get out of it?”

“A more comfortable cell in which to _rot_ for your transgressions.”

“That’s not very motivating.” Thor was unmoved. Amora sighed. “Fine. If it will get me _off_ of this vile realm in quicker fashion,” she rolled her eyes, “I will oblige.”

Banner regarded Amora warily from across the lab when she was lead there by Thor and Hill. “This isn’t going to work.”

Jane frowned, “Not you too.” She gestured toward the equations on her board, “This has to work. The only way there could reasonably be enough power to open up a portal with that much electrical energy,” she gestured to a swirling weather map from the day of the incident up on one of several screens, "is if it came from both of them. Wanda's... she's  _incredible_ , but just not that supercharged."

“No, I mean, we can’t take those cuffs off of her. They’re the only thing keeping us all safe—keeping her here.”

Wanda stepped forward, putting her shoulders back and her chin out. “I think I can help—I know I can.”

“How?”

She stepped up to Amora, making herself as tall as she could, “Take care, little mortal.”

Wanda made a face of disgust, “Hush, you.” Amora jerked away when Wanda raised her hand, glittering red energy lazing out from her palm and fingertips and curling its way toward Amora’s face.

Amora squinted and swayed on her feet for a moment before coming back to herself.

The Avengers assembled in the yard around the singed pattern of the Bifrost, giving Wanda and Amora wide berth.

“You will do _exactly_ as before, yes?”

Amora nodded, absently rubbing her freed wrists.

With Tony still recovering from being smashed by the Hulk and Banner still too upset to reliably transform, Pepper and Rhodey had returned. They stood at the ready in their suits, prepared to help Sif subdue Amora if the need arose.

The radio crackled, Hill’s voice coming across from where she waited in the lab with Jane and the gentlemen. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Rescue? War Machine? Sif?” A round of affirmative answers volleyed back. “Thor’s ready in Uppsala. Three… two… one.”

Sif tossed a sandbag in the air between Wanda and Amora. Energy crackled in the air, red and gold lights seemed to battle for dominance.

The sandbag disappeared.

Wanda clenched her hands into nervous fists.

Agonizingly long seconds ticked by.

“Only half the sandbag made it. Give it another go, Hawk and Falcon are turning on the charm and keeping the archaeologists calm for now but we’ve gotta figure this out fast.”

They repeated the exercise three more times.

Wanda’s knees shook, Pepper was quick to support her. “Time for a break. After the boys get back, if we need to we’ll try again. Burning yourself out isn’t going to do Steve any good.” Wanda allowed herself to be led back inside, Sif already fastening the magic handcuffs back on Amora.

Jane was chewing her lip, her brow stitched together tight over the bridge of her nose as she leaned toward the model on the screen in front of her, her hand flying across the page of her notepad.

“Somehow, the portal is splitting.” She spun around her seat. “I think that explains the ripped apart sandbags.”

Wanda went pale.

“Oh gosh, no! No! I don’t mean—I didn’t—Steve’s definitely not ripped apart! We have the shield, right? So he wound up wherever the other half of the bag keeps going… wherever that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say this before? I don't remember. I'll say it again, just in case: Pepper's code name when she uses the Mark 616 armor in the comics, is "Rescue."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gore warning? Kind of? Brief reference to cleaning off an animal pelt, but the animal is also dinner? I'm not even sure if that's a thing I should warn for, but there you go.

Fenrir made himself scarce after the first—no, second—night, leaving Steve alone with Loki most of the time. His cup was rarely dry, his belly never empty. Loki made it a point to make him lie back to be poked and prodded, the healing of his ribs measured in touches and receding bruises. Before he was allowed to sleep each night, a fragrant green paste that made his skin tingle got applied liberally to the ugly scratches on his chin and face and the gash on his scalp that itched and tugged every time he touched his hair.

Steve found himself healing more quickly than he ever remembered.

“Do you think they’re looking for you?” Loki nudged a piece across the game board between them. It reminded Steve of chess, though much more abstract. Loki quickly took over the board the first few rounds, though Steve was proving to be a quick study. Loki smirked and plucked Steve’s king off the board, the little carved monarch surrounded on all sides by Loki’s pieces. “You missed this one— _raichi_ , here.” He traced his finger through the path that was otherwise clear aside from the last piece Loki had moved. “You could have escaped.”

Steve raised a brow, “You holdin’ me prisoner?”

“Just your king.”

“So I’m free to go then.”

Loki ran the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and studied Steve for a moment. “Of course.” He swept his hand across the board, clearing the pieces and resetting them.

“I’d like to believe they’re looking for me.”

“You have doubts?”

“I don’t know. How would they even know where to start?”

A pang of guilt shot through Steve’s stomach. He wasn’t sure he’d be disappointed if they didn’t know where to start.

***

The Captain, was very different than the man Loki remembered, the man he mocked and imitated.

Rather, Loki thought, he was much more like the man he’d been expecting after reading the files Barton presented him with under the Tesseract’s control.

In truth, Loki had been disappointed when he met the Captain on the steps at Stuttgart. He’d expected a worthy opponent both in combat and wit. In spite of himself, he’d found the man in the files both utterly irritating and completely likable. He made his own rules, didn’t bow to authority simply because they’d been given some meaningless power by men who would be no more than footnotes in the history of the Nine. He was creative and bright and intense. There was a skewed balance within him, a battle between heart and head that made him do reckless things for the greater good he chose to believe in. He was everything Loki craved in both enemy and ally.

What Loki’d gotten at Stuttgart was a painted peacock reciting propaganda it didn’t quite sound like he believed himself.

At least he’d held his own in combat. It had been far too long since Loki had met someone whose mind worked three steps ahead and two to the side.

Loki studied the Captain as he settled with his chin against his fist, a thick, calloused finger wobbling a game piece side to side on its base. He picked the piece up and placed it down one space short of the distance it was allowed, leaving an open place in front of Loki’s front line.

“Tell me, Captain, are you afraid?”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth following the upward quirk. “Of you?” His eyes swept across the game board, the calculations he was clearly running in his head all coming to a slow halt, and settled on Loki. “I’ve never been afraid of you.”

“Really, now?”

“You’re just a man. Just a person.”

“Go on.”

“It’s the unrest you provoke that scares me.”

“Unrest?” The Captain nodded. “In who? The masses?” He paused for dramatic effect. “Thor?”

“In m—“ He stopped himself. “In everything.”

“Interesting.” Loki moved one of his pieces, freeing a path for his king and blocking the mounting attack. “But not quite what I was asking.”

The Captain frowned began to move a piece and changed his mind. “Oh?”

“I meant, are you afraid that they’ve stopped looking for you? Are you afraid they never started?”

They fell into silence, the sounds of the pieces sliding and clicking against the board measuring the time.

“No.” The Captain scrubbed a hand over his face, winced, moved as if to pick at the scab on his chin and thought better of it. “Yes? I’m not sure.”

Loki chuckled, low and quiet. “There’s that unrest.”

He shook his head, “They’re dealing with Lorelei and Amora. There are a lot more useful ways to expend time and energy than looking for me.”

“You don’t value yourself very much, do you Captain?”

Striking blue eyes met green in a direct affront. “Do you?”

Loki’s stomach twisted. He let a mask settle over his face, a cold smile, “Too much.”

The Captain regarded him for a long moment, the eye contact becoming uncomfortable before he finally looked away and moved his next piece, blocking the open path for Loki’s king. “Checkmate.”

“Wrong game.”

The door opened and closed in the front room signaling Fenrir’s return. He was growing ever more restless, not keen on the idea of having the Captain there in the least. Kill him and be done with it, that was what Fenrir thought, or chuck him back through Yggdrasil’s pathways and back to Midgard—there were more than enough of them that Heimdall could not see.

He was right, of course.

But Loki was stubborn.

And lonely, in truth. Fenrir was not the most amiable of companions even for all of his loyalty.

The hinge on the water pump in the dressing room squealed, water sloshed into the big copper tub. Loki glanced toward the slatted wall that divided them, a gentle flame glowed beneath the tub, quickly warming the water and making steam curl between the open spaces of the wall. Fenrir grunted in thanks and eased himself down into the tub.

They continued quietly, the Captain displaying what he’d learned in their last few rounds of play, Fenrir clearly awake in the tub only by the occasional sound of the water dripping and moving.

“Skaði has returned.” He was gruff and annoyed.

“And is she aware of our presence?”

“I don’t think so. Me, perhaps, but I’ve no quarrel with her.”

“Then all is fine.” For now.

The Captain insisted on making himself useful in some way, so Loki set him to work cleaning off the skin from their dinner. The rabbit was sizzling over the fire, the aroma making Loki feel languid as he watched the Captain carefully scraping at the inside of the pelt with a sharp blade.

“Even if I stayed here for the next seventy years I don’t think I’d ever get used to the sheer size of everything.” The Captain grinned and wiped his blade on a cloth and continued his work on the leg as long as his own forearm.

“Planning on staying that long? What if I tire of you?”

Was that possible?

“I can’t really leave without your help, can I?”

Loki didn’t expect him to _want_ to stay, but the comment stung all the same.

Fenrir excused himself when their meal was done, his face was drawn and tired. He retreated into the back of the house where he would surely sleep like the dead until morning.

The Captain had a thoughtful look to him, grease shining on his bottom lip, making him look more enticing than the rabbit had been.

“This stuff,” he gestured to the stoneware cup at his elbow, steam curling up out of the top of it. “Is it magic?”

Loki laughed, “No.”

“Then how does it work?”

“The same way your own remedies do. Perhaps more effective or potent, judging by your progress. But no, it’s not magic. Nothing I’ve offered by way of healing has been—just things anyone from Asgard would know or use.”

“But can’t you heal with magic?”

“I can. But I confess I haven’t got much talent for healing others. I suppose I am selfish in that respect—or I was simply too lazy to pay much attention to those lessons.”

“Does everyone on Asgard do magic?”

“Most people have the capacity. Very few choose to pursue it. I’m not special in that way.”

“But you’re not…”

“Asgardian? No. Not by birth.” Loki wasn’t sure he wanted to continue this line of conversation. He sucked grease off of his thumb and wiped his hands.

“You’re a Fr—you’re Jotunn.”

“Yes.”

“Do they all have magic?”

“I wouldn’t call it magic, but they do have abilities that might appear that way.”

“Do they look like you—us?” Loki remained silent. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’re inquisitive. Too few are.” The subject was dropped. Loki imagined for the briefest of moments that he’d chosen to gut the Captain rather than strip him of his wet, frozen clothing.

“Tell me something.”

“I’ve already told you a great may things.” Some truth, some lies, it was up to the Captain to decide.

“What are _you_ afraid of?” Loki opened and closed his mouth, feeling like a fish out of water. “Why are you hiding? Just letting everyone think you’re dead?”

“I don’t think that’s something I care to tell.”

“But, Loki—“

The way the Captain said his name, so earnest and open, made his heart throb with want.

Want of what, he could not say.

“No.”

“ _Loki_ —“

“Get. Out.”

He had the nerve to laugh, “I’ll die out there, I can’t.”

“You’ve used the last of my hospitality. Get. Out.”

“Then send me home.”

“Out.” He sat, stubbornly, his jaw set and his gaze intense. “Out!”

Loki surged forward, gripping the Captain about the throat and hefting him out of his seat.

He didn’t break his gaze.

Loki snapped his wrist to the side, the door banging open in response to his motion, the wind blustering in. The Captain dug his heels in, a futile attempt in socked feet on a smooth floor. Loki chucked him into the bank of snow that had piled up a few yards from the door.

“What am I afraid of? What?”

The Captain struggled to unbury himself, his lips turning almost instantly blueish, snowflakes sticking fast to his eyelashes and brows. His hair and clothes quickly grew wet. Loki strode over to him in several long steps, letting himself go, feeling the cold leech into his flesh and bones and the sudden warmth that came with the change—this body built for the elements.

A jagged blade of ice appeared in his hand, growing seemingly from his fingertips and sticking there fast. He pressed the tip into the vulnerable flesh under the Captain’s chin.

The Midgardian, kneeling in the snow, shivered hard. His mouth opened, slack and soft. His nostrils flared with the force of his breathing. He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again.

Loki was acutely aware of the way he looked. Hair whipped around in the wind, blue skin blending with the scenery and making white teeth and red eyes appear to loom disembodied.

The Captain looked up at him with wonder, awe, the fear of things to be discovered.

He did not quake with the fear of the unknown, he did not draw back in disgust.

The Captain brought his hand up slowly and gripped Loki’s wrist, the fabric of Loki’s sleeve odd against the dulled sensitivity of his Jotunn skin.

Loki drew his hand and weapon away, leaving the tiniest of nicks, a bloom of red against pale skin.

He turned on his heel and walked back through the door, stopping in front of the fire and shaking his hand, letting the icy blade drop into the flame. He panted with the effort of keeping himself upright. The blue receded from his fingertips. He shivered, his body needing a moment to adjust to the rapid, extreme changes in temperature and state—outer and inner.

The door closed softly, the sound of the wind becoming muted.

The Captain was gasping for breath and shivering quietly in his wet socks, hugging himself tightly when Loki turned. His skin had a blueish tint from the cold. Droplets of water quickly collected at the ends of his hair and eyelashes, rolling over a cheek like a tear.

Loki hesitated before stepping forward reaching out to touch him, wiping the drop of water away with his thumb. The Captain leaned into the contact, his eyes fluttering closed.

Loki leaned down, unsure, before capturing the Captain’s lips in his own.

Shivering became the gnash of teeth and lips. The wetness of the Captain’s clothes seeped into Loki’s own with the closeness of him—both sets of arms and hands grasping and pulling and seeking purchase.

The morning found them curled around each other in a tangle of the blankets and coverings from the Captain’s pallet near the fire.

“You have to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game Steve and Loki play is called "tafl" or "hnefatafl". It's an abstract strategy game that was popular in medieval Scandinavia and mentioned in the Norse sagas. It's not really clear how exactly the game went as there are only fragments of a board and some pieces left, but it's been compared to chess. Below is the set up of the pieces:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Steve plays the middle pieces with the defending king while Loki plays the outer attacking pieces, then they switch.
> 
> We've got the most abstract nod ever to the Cheshire cat during their argument toward the end of the chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam stayed behind in Uppsala. It was easier than going back and forth every time Dr. Foster wanted to try something new. The archaeologists seemed to like him the best and he didn’t mind playing PR-rep if it meant getting closer to getting Steve back.

They’d packed Amora and Lorelei back off to Asgard with Thor and Sif, hopefully not to be seen again there on Earth.

He rubbed his eyes and glared at his phone. They’d worked well into the night, Sam moving around the dig site that the shield had turned up at with one of Foster’s instruments and avoiding sandbags as they dropped from the sky or appeared at his feet.

It was looking like the whole damned place was just a thinly veiled door to the world beyond their world, not just one spot that they could focus their attentions on.

“Hello?”

“Sam?”

“Oh my God.”

***

“Wait, I—“ Steve’s stomach lurched and he felt as if he’d gone blind for a moment.

Loki wanted him to leave.

Steve wanted to stay, though he wouldn’t say it out loud.

He watched in nervous awe as Loki knelt to help him lace up his boots and then extended a hand to help him up from the ornate seat in the main room before the fire. In a blink they were standing where Steve had first found himself, ice forming a thick crust over the marks he’d made on a tree nearby.

“It goes without saying that you cannot tell anyone about this. Any of it.”

Steve nodded, “I understand.”

He was hiding, living. Something Steve had tried to do. As long as he wasn’t plotting world domination, why not leave him to it?

He pushed away the guilt of knowing Loki was alive and well when Thor continued to mourn, defending the honor of Loki’s death at the slightest of challenges. It wasn’t Steve’s place.

Loki touched his face gently, briefly, and smiled.

And then Steve was stumbling as if he’d been running downhill and catching himself just before he tumbled headlong into what seemed like an excavated pit, coming short of the bright yellow tape fluttering at waist height. He turned once, twice, trying to get his bearings.

Someone was shouting at him in a language he didn’t understand. He turned toward the sound and put his hands up in surrender, not wanting to cause any trouble.

“You! You are the one they’ve been looking for, yes?”

“I-I’m St-Captain America.”

The woman who approached him looked harried, “Good, yes, finally. We can get back to work then.” She fished a phone from her pocket and punched in a number that she read off of a sticky note that seemed to have gone through the wash. “Talk to your people.” She handed him the phone and crossed her arms.

Sam wrapped him in a tight hug that he hardly felt in his ribs. “Where have you _been_? How’d you get back?”

“I’m not entirely sure myself.”

Doctor Foster peppered him with questions from the moment he arrived back at the Avengers facility, wanting to know every detail he could remember.

Steve skirted the truth.

He described what it had felt like to travel through space, described the wintery wood he found himself in.

“And I was walking and just sort of—stepped back to…” He looked at Sam for confirmation, repeating the answer. “Just like walking through the door between two rooms.”

Foster chattered on, wondering if it was possible to cross the realms so easily without the help of magic or energy of some kind, if Steve had been able to because of some residual energy clinging to him. She scanned him for every kind of electromagnetic radiation she could think of, hoping for a thread to pull to unravel a new theory.

Wanda remained scarce until dinnertime, a dry sob ripping out of her when she finally approached Steve. “I’m fine.” She nodded and shuddered and hugged him hard.

***

Weeks went by.

Steve’s mind wandered.

He threw himself back into his work, followed a new lead on Bucky’s whereabouts all the way to Morocco before the trail went cold and he and Sam returned once more, empty handed.

Steve sat down heavily on his bed and flopped back, staring at the ceiling.

He frowned at the texture of the comforter, something was off.

Steve sat up and looked down at the bed, swiped his hand across the top. “FRIDAY, could I get some lights?”

The light came up slowly, designed not to blind.

Steve was struck with confusion and a stomach full of butterflies when he realized what his comforter had been replaced with—the red cape, spread out across his bed, the odd tear here and there undetectable.

Soft woolen slacks and a navy blue shirt, heavy with embroidery at the collar and cuffs were folded in a next stack at the foot of the bed, thick socks balled together on top.

“My, what big eyes you have.”

Steve looked up at the figure leaning against the edge of his desk and grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END.
> 
> I so hope you enjoyed this, Gnu.
> 
> Happy Stoki-mas!


End file.
